Cry From The Grave (Chapter 36)

Cry From The Grave

Chapter 36

     Tori stayed around to make some final notes as Ballack felt the cool rush of Albuterol enter his lungs through the trach collar. This was one of the key times her nursing background came in especially handy. Ballack's finger clicked slowly around his keyboard as Tori readied her observations to him over the soft whine of the nebulizer. After his first treatment was complete, Tori plucked a vial of Pulmozyme from the refrigerator and squeezed it into the necessary chamber. Before long, Ballack's secretions would thin out sufficiently so all he'd need would be a suctioning. He was less worried about his body temperature. He wasn't feeling achy, and the atmosphere of his basement living quarters had revived him. Tori suctioned his trach and put everything away before pulling on her jacket.

     "Thanks," he said to her.

     "Does everything look square for tomorrow?" she asked him.

     Ballack switched his chair control to lean his seat back and took a long look at his partner. "It's fine. Provided there are no disasters between now and reporting time tomorrow."

    The bluntness of his reply shot through the four feet between them. Tori zipped up her jacket and stared back. "Problem?"

     "No, for the simple reason that I have full confidence you believe that my feelings toward a certain someone would never jeopardize our success in this case. Just as I would never believe you'd allow one ounce of consternation over Paula's impending delivery derail our chances to nail Bowie."

     Tori looked down. "For the record, I never thought that. I just didn't want you to lose your grip, or go down that road."

     "Dating Dana never did that to me. Losing her won't either. And sending something through the mail to her seems like a minuscule thing to bring up now."

     "Because you're a brilliant detective, Cameron. More than that, you're a brilliant person. You have a memory like a steel trap. You can juggle events, faces, positions, sayings, and everything else in your head until they come together. You can take an obscure item like an emergency contact card or a newspaper, filter it through your subconscious, dovetail it with two or three shady coincidences, and you know who the killer is. That's why it's only a matter of time before we get this guy."

     Ballack had not lowered his stare. "And?" he implored.

     "Professionally, I don't want you to lose that edge."

     Satisfied that would be all he got out of Tori, Ballack lowered his seat. "I accept that, partner, although I'd say it's more like you're building a wide hedge around me to protect the case. If you trust me, that's all that it needs to be."

     They both heard the garage door open upstairs. "Looks like Mom and Dad are home," said Ballack. "Come on. I'll see you out and then maybe Dad and I can catch the first half of the Chiefs' game."

Missy Crabolli could not believe this could happen to her. She sat on the edge of her living room sofa under the flickering glow of a forty-watt bulb. Her right hand clutched a second can of Bud Light. The cylindrical antipsychotic matched the completed one at her feet.
     Replaying the events of that evening, but especially the past sixty minutes, in her mind, she could not believe how blind she had been. Her self-directed anger was matched only by her burgeoning sense of helplessness if she made this known. Cursing her vulnerability, she looked at the empty beer can. Resolutely pulling herself up, she knew it was unwise to drink herself into a stupor when her team desired her presence the next day. She balanced herself against the hallway walls as she crept toward the safety of her bed.
     
Martin Ballack paid no attention to the war going on between Kansas City and their Steeler counterparts on the television. His concentration was riveted on the words of his son, who rarely discussed major elements of a murder investigation with him. The fact that both chaplains knew each other, though, gave the younger Ballack an excuse to discuss the proceedings with his father.
     "My word, I'd known Father Giles for ten years," Martin uttered, his eyes wide with shock. "He and Billy Doyle and I had done grief counseling seminars together. He was one of the gentlest people around. Not the type you'd bully in middle school for lunch money, but one of the steady, reliable people in ministry you always pray you get to know. When did you say it happened?"
     "A nurse at St. Matthew's Grove found him this morning in the chapel there," replied Ballack. "The time of death is likely nine-thirty last night."
     "Did you speak with Karen?"
     "The widow is holding up as well as can be expected, Dad, but you know it'll be a different story after the funeral."
      "It always is," Martin agreed, breathing a sigh of relief as the Steelers' safety dropped a sure-fire interception. "So, it's reasonable to ask two things: What was Rory doing there, and who knew he'd be there?"
     "His widow said he was doing some last-minute prep for this week's services but doing that late Sunday at work was a rarity."
     "But someone was there and knew he'd be there. Or followed him there."
     "No robbery of money or items," said Ballack. "He, nothing else, was the target."
     "Thus," Martin said through gritted teeth as the Chiefs' quarterback was thrown for a loss, "you're looking for someone..."
     "Who had access to the building..."
     "And," his father continued, "could be someone who, all of a sudden, had a reason to go after Rory. That's got to be the connection, if this is the same person who killed Dr. Hibbler. Those two guys are polar opposites. You spoke with everyone at St. Matthew's after you were ambushed out at Innsbrook, correct? Missy told us that."
     "That's right."
     "You have the details of all conversations you had?"
     "Those too."
     "Okay, then it's back to first principles. Occam's Razor. All things being equal, what is the simplest reason? That's likely the correct one. Your answer is shut behind the doors. What will help you break conclave?"
     "A Presbyterian using a Catholic reference. Nice, Dad."
     At that point, Marie Ballack strode into the den, swooping behind her husband and wrapping her arms around his neck from behind. "Martin, before I lovingly choke you, can you please bring some order to your side of the closet? Your shirts are somewhat askew and your jeans fell off one of the hangers. Please refresh that scene immediately."
     "To hear is to obey," Martin guffawed with a twinkle in his eye. He kissed his beloved on the cheek.
     Ballack's eyes glowed at the sudden epiphany. "And that's it! Thanks, Mom!" He backed away and moved his chair toward his lift on the basement stairs.
     "What's it?" asked the thoroughly befuddled Martin and Marie Ballack together.
     Ballack pressed the button to carry his wheelchair downstairs. "I think you just helped me break conclave!"